


It's Fine.

by sunflowermoonshine



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Dead Terry Milkovich, Gen, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Shameless, mickey talks about his feelings, this has just been stuck in my head for like a week and i wanted to write it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowermoonshine/pseuds/sunflowermoonshine
Summary: Terry Milkovich is dead. Mickey doesn’t feel any different.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 7
Kudos: 152





	It's Fine.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second thing I've ever written, but I enjoyed writing the first fic so much that I wanted to try something different. I hope people like it!

_Terry is dead. Heart attack._

Mickey read the text and then he re-read it, making sure that he wasn’t hallucinating. He huffed, set the phone down, and walked across the tiny room. Turning on his heels, he paced back to the phone, picked it up, and re-read the text again.

_Terry is dead._

He didn’t recognize the number, but he figured it was probably Iggy or Jamie. Ever since marrying Ian, moving in with all of the other Gallagher’s, and attempting to go “legit”, he has tended to keep a distance from anyone associated with the name Milkovich. But occasionally he would get a text or a voicemail from an unknown number, updating him on the latest happenings of the family. Mickey blinked down at his phone, re-reading the text again.

The bedroom door swung open, slamming into the wall behind it, and Mickey jumped. The phone slipped out of his hands and clattered across the nightstand, landing on the floor by the bed. He turned to face whoever was so suddenly interrupting his thoughts when—

“Mickey?” Ian asked, brow furrowing in confusion, “What’s going on?”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, squared his shoulders, and shrugged, “Terry is dead.” It was the first time he said it out loud and Mickey feels like that should have been a more significant moment.

“What?” Ian replied, a smile slowly growing on his face, “How? Thank fucking god. When is the party?”

“I don’t fucking know. I’m not planning that shit.” Mickey snapped back, turning away from Ian, attempting to pace across the room before remembering there is nowhere to really walk when there are three beds and a desk crammed into one smaller than average bedroom. Mickey felt like he was going to suffocate with Ian staring at him. Like Mickey should suddenly feel elated and free hearing about his dad’s death.

“I need to fucking smoke,” Mickey moved back towards the bed, pulling open the nightstand drawer so hard he thought he might rip the whole thing out of the stand. 

“Hey, Mick, are you okay? What is going on?” Ian started, interrupting Mickey’s silent warpath to track down his cigarettes. At some point Ian had moved closer to Mickey, his hand slowly reaching out, attempted to grab onto Mickey’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine!” Mickey shouted; his shoulders hunched up as he evaded Ian’s hand, “Jesus, I just… I need to smoke, okay?” Mickey could tell his voice was getting higher, sounding almost panicked at this point. Finally grabbing ahold of his cigarettes, he stalked out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time before exiting the house. 

Mickey was out of the house, down the street, and around the corner before he noticed that he left his phone. By the time he was four blocks away, he realized he was walking so quickly that he was actually out of breath. Mickey stopped so fast, the momentum he gained in his near run from the Gallagher house nearly threw him off balance. He stood on the sidewalk, trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing a cigarette out of the case, putting it between his lips. Patting his pockets, he realized he forgot to grab the lighter. “Fuck,” he shouted louder. He whipped the cigarette out of his mouth and onto the ground. Throwing the rest of the pack on the ground, he stomped on them with his foot, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” After a few moments, Mickey finally calmed down enough to take stock of what exactly he was doing. He looked at the random houses around him, silently thanking the fact that no one was outside to witness his apparent meltdown.

Mickey was staring down at the ground, looking at the way the cardboard carton, paper, and tobacco was now smeared across the sidewalk, when a voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, tentatively, “Mickey, are you okay?”

Mickey looked up at Ian, feeling his heart clench a little bit as he stared at his husband, “Yeah. Sorry. Yeah, I’m good. Great. Happy. Ding dong, Terry Milkovich is dead, right?” He muttered, acutely aware of how completely unconvincing his voice was. Mickey moved towards Ian, reaching his hand out to grab onto Ian’s shoulder. He moved his other hand to Ian’s face, slowly brushing across his check and resting on the back of his neck.

Ian moved to envelop Mickey into a hug. Mickey felt the redhead’s arms constrict tighter around him, feeling almost as if the boy was trying to crush Mickey under the weight of his arms. Mickey hated to admit, even to himself, that Ian’s touch was grounding to him. 

“Can we go back to the house?” Ian mumbled into Mickey’s ear. Mickey nodded slightly and then he felt Ian pull away. Keeping one arm around Mickey’s shoulders, Ian started to lead Mickey back home.

\--

Within a few hours, the entire Gallagher house had learned the news and it had been met with mostly indifference. Mickey sat at the kitchen table, listening to the Ian, Debbie, and Lip plan tonight’s dinner, acting as if nothing else significant happened today. Since getting back to the house, Mickey’s phone had been permanently glued to his hand. He kept reading and re-reading the text.

_Terry is dead. Heart attack._

__

__

Terry is dead.

Terry is dead.

_Terry is dead._

“I should see the body,” Mickey stated suddenly, surprising himself by the volume of his voice. He kept looking at his phone, feeling as if he stopped reading the text, the words might suddenly disappear. 

“What?” Lip asked, looking at Mickey and then towards Ian, as if he could translate what just came out of Mickey’s mouth.

“The body,” Mickey shrugged, trying to keep his voice casual, “I don’t know. Doesn’t the next of kin need to ID the body or some shit? Shouldn’t I go down there and make sure it’s actually him?”

“I think that is only necessary with murder victims,” Debbie started, “Didn’t Jamie find him in the kitchen? I’m pretty sure that’s all the identification you need.”

“Yeah, don’t torture yourself. You don’t have to deal with him again,” Ian nodded, looking across the kitchen counter towards Mickey, “You’re free, Mick.”

“Besides,” Lip added, “Where even is the body? The county morgue? Pretty sure your cousins are just going to let the state deal with it.”

“Fuck!” Mickey shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, “I don’t know. I just feel like I should lay eyes on the dead bastard. Why does everything always have to be a big fucking deal.”

Mickey stood up quickly, the chair clattering back behind him. He ran a hand through his hair, huffing loudly, before walking outside. As he pulled the door close, he could hear Ian calling out for him.

“Mickey!” Ian shouted, chasing after the boy, “What the fuck is going on?” 

Mickey felt Ian grab onto his shoulder, trying to pull him back. Acting on instinct, Mickey whipped around, shoving Ian off him. Mickey felt instant regret fill his throat as his husband stumbled backwards, feet catching on the lip of the stairs, and toppled to the ground.

“What the fuck, Mickey!” Ian shouted, sitting up and rubbing where his back had connected with the stair steps.

“God damn it,” Mickey muttered as he moved towards Ian, “Are you okay?” Mickey reached out, trying to grab onto Ian.

“Are YOU okay?” Ian shot back, smacking Mickey’s hand away, “What is going on with you? You sprint out of the house this morning looking like you’re about to lose your shit, you snap at anyone who mentions your dad, and now you want to… what? Have a viewing? What the fuck is going on.”

“I don’t know. I’m fine. It’s just been a weird day” Mickey stared at Ian. 

Ian raised an eyebrow, “Really? You’re going to tell me you’re fine? I’ve listened to you talk about your dad’s death for years. You once talked about planning his funeral in Boystown, just to spite the bastard. Then he actually kicks the bucket, you look like you’re about to have a mental breakdown, and you have the nerve to tell me you’re _fine?_ ”

Mickey opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut again. He repeated the action several times and he dully thought about the fact that he might look like a fish out of water. “I…” Mickey started, “It’s stupid.”

Ian’s eyes softened and Mickey instantly regretted saying anything. He knew that he gave Ian the opening to pull out the sappy feelings bullshit that he had been trying to avoid all day. He watched as Ian moved over on the steps, gently patting the step next to him, signaling Mickey to sit down.

Mickey obliged, moving to take a seat next to Ian. Mickey let out a deep sigh, feeling like he was finally releasing a breath he was holding in all day.

“Mickey,” Ian started, softly, “I know that talking about things is… gay… or whatever. But we are _married_ now. Just… please don’t shut me out.”

Mickey huffed, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub away the tension that had built up in his face all day.

“I feel the same”

“What?” Ian asked, not understanding.

“I don’t _feel_ any different,” Mickey started, slowly trying to articulate the shit that had been sitting at the pit of his stomach all day, “I always thought that when Terry finally died, I would feel like this weight off my chest or I’d feel happier… lighter… free. But I don’t. I just feel the same.”

Mickey took a deep breath as he felt Ian’s hand move across his shoulder, massaging it lightly.

“I still feel like he is out there. I don’t feel safer. And also,” Mickey started, trying to tamp down his annoyance, “a heart attack? A fucking heart attack? The piece of shit terrorized me for years and he dies because the fat fuck’s heart gives out? Really?”

Mickey was pissed now, “The fucker doesn’t have to face shit now. He doesn’t have to deal with a single fucking thing he did to me. _To us._ He is just dead. That’s it. That’s it! It’s done!”  
Mickey needed to pace. He stood up abruptly, startling Ian in the process. He started walking along the length of the yard, looking back at Ian occasionally as he continued his rant.

“I used to fantasize about how to kill him. I’d make him pay, you know? I’d really make him face all the shit he did. I always wanted too, guess I should have done it.” Mickey continued to ramble, “But now, the fucker just goes at drops _dead_. And I get what? What do I get? Nothing! He is dead and I’m still scared of him, what kind of pussy bullshit is that?”

“You didn’t get closure” Ian said, like it was the most obvious thing in the planet.

“Fuck you, Gallagher, don’t be insightful right now.” Mickey snapped back, moving his hand so he was pointing back and forth between him and Ian, “We are doing pissed off thing right now.”

Ian laughed, “Sorry. What do you want to do then? Go down to the county coroner’s office and bash his body? Wait until he is buried and take a sledgehammer to his gravestone? Should we fuck on his grave instead? That would really have him rolling.”

Mickey choked back a laugh at that, “Jesus, Ian.”

“What?” Ian shot back, eyebrow raising slightly, “You don’t think that would give you closure? Maybe we can advertise it as a hook up spot to some clubs in Boystown. Every fag in the South Side can get it up the ass, bent over the headstone of Terry Milkovich.”

Mickey laughed again, feeling a little bit hysterical at this point, “Yeah, maybe.” Mickey walked over to where Ian was still sitting, extending his hand so he could help pull Ian up, “Sorry for shoving you.”

Ian smiled and pulled the shorter boy into a tight embrace, “It’s going to be okay, Mick.”

“Yeah,” Mickey murmured, “It will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
